


Nocturnal Predators

by Airie



Series: Evil in Your Eye [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Daddy Issues, Drunkenness, Elder Scrolls Online: Greymoor, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seduction, Spoilers, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airie/pseuds/Airie
Summary: Set during Greymoor zone story, after "the Vampire Scholar" quest.Fennorian is suffering from hunger and his recent trauma at the hands of Exarch Tzinghalis. Dio, the vampire Vestige, steps in and takes him out for a hunting lesson.
Relationships: Fennorian (Elder Scrolls)/Original Male Character(s), Fennorian/Male Vestige, Fennorian/Vestige (Elder Scrolls)
Series: Evil in Your Eye [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787221
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Nocturnal Predators

No matter how many times he unscrewed the cap and took a peek inside, the flask remained empty. Yet, Fennorian kept fumbling with his keepsake to the point of fine polish, sitting at his hiding spot: between a wall and bed in Princess Svana’s royal chambers. He felt pathetic. Weak… and alone. But most importantly, he hungered. He had no idea what to do, left to his own devices for the first time. He missed Castle Ravenwatch. He missed Adusa-Daro and Gwendis. He missed Verandis. 

He could not shake off the memories of torture he endured at the eager hands of Exarch Tzinghalis. His flesh and skin mended quickly thanks to his supernatural fortitude, but there would be a lot of time before the scars on his psyche would heal. He shrugged, remembering his ordeal. He would have died in the mad scientist’s tower weren’t it for Lyris and her partner. Frankly, the things the Exarch did to him made Fennorian want to die. 

_“It fights against its nature, Rada al-Saran.”_ The torturer’s calm, measured voice echoed through Fennorian’s head. _“A weaker breed.”_

 _“No, Tzinghalis.”_ Fennorian’s memory conjured up a second voice. Deep and silky, yet somehow much scarier. _“Just the deceived son of an estranged brother, forced to deny his nature.”_

He remembered the burning shame and pain as he sat in blood-soaked rags on the cold Dwemer-steel floor, desperately clutching his flask, whilst Lyris and her partner searched the vile laboratory. That was his lowest moment. But his work was yet to be complete. Could he pull through? Could he finish the task he was entrusted with? What would his father say seeing him now? 

A pained whimper escaped his mouth. He could feel his fangs pressing against his lips. He curled up into a ball on the stone floor. He needed to feed badly, but he was still too shaken to move from his hiding spot. 

“I’m losing my mind…” He whispered with strain. 

Someone knocked on the window, startling the poor youngster. Fennorian froze, clutching his flask to his chest like a protective charm. Was he imagining things? Was it just the rain outside? No, another knock, stronger and louder, was heard from outside. Someone was definitely trying to get his attention.

“Who is it?” He asked cautiously, trying to remember where he put away his staff. 

“Who else would be knocking on a window at this height I the middle of the night?” An impatient voice replied. “Let me in!”

Fennorian shook his head, getting up. Cautiously, he reached to undo the latch, opening the stained glass window. Cold wind and rain burst into the chamber, revealing a dark figure lurking on the windowsill. The figure grunted, sliding into the room, vigorously shaking off the rain. It was Lyris Titanborn’s partner – the Dunmer vampire with an amusing title. Dio the Menacing. 

“Took you long enough. I’m soaked.” Dio complained as a greeting, briskly walking towards the fireplace, making a stop at Svana’s sturdy desk to put away a large wooden box he was carrying. 

“Svana is not present at the moment. She and Lyris are going over our plans.” Fennorian explained, joining Dio at the fire. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”

“I know everything I need. We leave tomorrow to gather intelligence at three enemy camps. Simple.” Dio replied, undoing his tall ponytail to wring out water from his thin dreadlocks. 

“Then… is there something you needed my help with?” Fennorian asked, unsure why exactly he was visited at this hour. 

He was thankful for all the assistance Dio provided in the recent days, but the man made him feel uneasy. There was something in the air between them the moment they met on a carriage ride to Western Skyrim. Something about the Dunmer’s quick speculative glances made Fennorian nervous. As if the man was quietly judging him. 

“No, fledgling, I do not.” The guest replied drily, taking off his perfectly tailored iridescent red suit jacket to stretch over a nearby chair for drying. He then turned around, hands behind his back, and waltzed around the royal chamber like a bored museum-goer, examining the paintings and tapestries on the walls.

Fennorian crossed his arms, hesitant how to proceed. The Dunmer was an eccentric sort. Very… direct in his words and actions. And quite arrogant, the way only an adult vampire could be. And equally patronizing. 

“So… to what do I owe the pleasure?” He risked, his proper upbringing taking over. Regardless if the guest was welcome or not, Fennorian represented the oldest noble house in Rivnespire. He had to behave properly.

“I wanted to treat myself on a night on the town, but it started raining. I came here to wait it out and dry off. I have to be presentable.” Dio replied, looking over his shoulder, the warm light of the burning logs reflected in his stinger earring. 

“Oh?”

“I’m hunting tonight.” The man’s pale lips stretched into a grin, revealing his impressive fangs.

“Ah. I do hope you don’t plan to be a threat to the good people of Solitude?”

Dio laughed, clearly amused. Fennorian would surely blush if he was still able to. Was this arrogant Dunmer mocking or taunting him? 

“Rest assured, youngling. You have my word no innocent lives will be taken by my hand tonight. You can stand down.” Dio assured with a smirk. “Speaking of which… how long has it been since your last feeding frenzy?”

“Pardon?” Fennorian tensed, the source of his pain out in the open. 

“You’re starving.” Dio stated the obvious. “It’s all over your face. Have you seen yourself in a mirror? You’re paler than usual and your eyes are bloodshot. I bet that flask tucked under your arm is empty. Ha! The look on your face proves I’m right.”

“Your concern is not needed.” Fenn assured with dignity, his face scrunched in a strained grimace, betraying his true feelings. “I’ll manage.”

“You hadn’t answered me. How long?” Dio pressed, approaching slowly. 

The young scholar bit down on his lip on impulse, his protruding fangs piercing the thin flesh. The taste of his own blood on his tongue brought little relief. He needed the real thing. 

“Never before. This is my first time.” He confessed, struggling to maintain his composure. Despite his natural Altmer height, he felt small. So… puny. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Dio asked, just a pace away, studying every detail of the younger vampire’s face.

“I… I have my instruments with me. I can concoct a potion to artificially sate me until I find a willing subject.”

“What nonsense.” Dio muttered, losing all interest, walking away with a dismissive wave. “Well, when you snap… and you will, please know the fault is yours alone. Word of advice, the Princess should not be sleeping in her chambers tonight.” 

“Y-you! You arrogant…! Buffoon!” Fennorian called out, following the guest back to Svana’s desk. “You come here, unannounced might I add! You treat this place – the royal chamber of the High King’s daughter – like a waiting room! And you insult me! Why? What have I ever done to you?”

Dio’s hand rested on the rosewood box he had brough. Yes, why did he come? He could wait out the rain somewhere else. Yet, he chose to come here. He knew Lyris and Svana were not going to be present. Titanborn was painfully predictable – it was not hard to guess she would urge the princess to leave Fennorian alone, so that the young scholar could have some time to collect himself after what he went through in Tzinghalis’ damned tower. He knew Fennorian would be alone. And he wanted to have some time with him in private. Why? 

Because the poor whelp reminded him of Verandis. Passionate, brilliant Verandis from a time when he and Dio were together. The moment he met the Altmer on the carriage to Western Skyrim, he knew Fennorian was part of House Ravenwatch. The fledgling did not smell of Verandis the way the rest of his brood did, proving he was not sired by the count. Yet, Dio sensed the two were somehow connected, the exact nature of said connection somehow eluding him. Regardless, the very presence of Fennorian stirred something within him. Something he struggled to suppress, but could not. 

“Ashes…” The Dunmer hissed, embarrassed at the realization. So much time passed since the Doomcrag, and he still couldn’t let it go. Would there ever be a night he could spend peacefully without thinking of Verandis at least once? 

“If you are going to ignore me, then leave.” Fenn called out from behind him, peeking over Dio’s shoulder. “Please, I…”

“Tell me.” Dio interrupted before Fenn’s voice could shake. He turned around full of some uncertain purpose. “Has the good count taught you how to hunt?”

“No.” The young one answered truthfully, caught off guard by such an intimate question. “He showed me how to control my hunger, just like he taught Adusa-daro and Gwendis. But hunting was something he planned to show me later. My studies came first, you see, and…” Their eyes locked for a split-second as pain flashed through their faces. “And then he was gone.”

The silence that fell was heavy. Deep enough for them to hear the rain had passed. They two men were both looking away, each deep in their own thoughts, no doubt reminiscing about their last moments with the count. 

“Alright. Come along.” Dio sighed, after the moment stretched enough to get awkward. 

“Where? And why?” 

“You’ll see. I’m going to teach you how to hunt without killing. Now come before I change my mind.”

Not waiting for a reply, Dio collected his now dry suit jacket and the mystery box. With both items tucked under his arm he disappeared into a cloud of smoke and bats, flying out of the ajar window with a haunting screech.

Fennorian struggled with his convictions. Verandis taught him to feed off of willing and knowing subjects only. ‘Blood-friends’, they were called. A less crude word than ‘donor’. But going out into the city to feed off of someone who he didn’t know? Then again, he did not want to be left alone in this room with his thoughts. Exhaling a defeated sigh, he himself burst into a cloud of mist and followed. 

\---

“Glad you decided to join me.” Dio greeted as they both materialized at the front steps of the Bard’s College.

“I hope I won’t come to regret this.” Fennorian rubbed the back of his neck, taking a cautious look around. It was late enough for only the taverns to remain open, yet large cities like Solitude made him nervous. Too much temptation. 

“Regret gaining some knowledge? I thought you for a scholar.” Dio teased, banging his fist loudly on the College door.

“What’s in the box?” Fenn asked, ignoring the jab.

“Bait. You’ll see soon enough, just don’t say anything, nod, and look pretty.”

Moments later a servant answered the door, yelling at them to keep it down and that the College was not open at this hour. Yet, something about Dio’s gaze made her choke on her own words and fall silent. 

“You will let us in.” The Dumner instructed, peering into the woman’s eyes. “Then, you will seek out Maestro Leiborn and tell him to come see us. Him and only him, do you understand?”

“Yes.” The servant replied mechanically, her eyes matte – a tell-tale sign of vampiric hypnosis.

“Good. See to it then.”

Eyes wide open, the woman turned around and marched upstairs, her back painfully straight. The two men entered the sleepy college hall. Dio made himself comfortable on a nearby bench, whilst Fennorian peeked into a room adjacent to the main hall. Judging by the mostly empty displays, it was an exhibition of some sort. By the few complete exhibitions, he deduced the theme was historical instruments. Curious, he entered the room, wandering between the displays, pausing to read a few plaques to kill time. 

“The Lute of Blue Longing! My friend, what a magnificent find!” A man, no doubt Maestro Leiborn, exclaimed with joy. Fenn turned his attention to the entryway to see the Nord retrieving from Dio’s mystery box a beautifully crafted instrument. True to its name, the lute was blue. 

So, that was the bait. Which could only mean that Maestro was the prey.

“Ah, there you are!” Dio called out entering the exhibition room with Leiborn in tow, an uncharacteristic jovial smile on his face. He beckoned Fennorian to come closer, turning to address the Nord. “Maestro, I’d like to introduce you to Fennorian of House Ravenwatch, the oldest noble family of Rivenspire.” 

Pleasantries were exchanged. Fennorian managed to restrain himself from gnashing his teeth when Leiborn’s hand touched his. He could have sworn in that brief moment he could feel every vein pulsing under the mortal’s palm. What was stopping him from seizing him by the hand, twisting his arm and sinking his fangs into that warm, thick wrist? The Maestro smelled so good… healthy, well fed and strong. 

“I insist!” The Nord’s voice pulled him back into reality. “You must be the one to place the lute where it belongs!”

“I could not.” Dio faked a humble smile so perfectly, that Fennorian almost gasped. “This is a bit embarrassing…”

“It was you, who retrieved the instrument. Please, do me this courtesy.” Leiborn pressed, excited like only a true lover of the arts could. 

“Well, if Maestro insists…” 

“Thank you, my friends.” Leiborn wiped a genuine tear from his eye, watching the delicate instrument resting at its rightful place. “I long to see our exhibition rebuilt. And in time, I hope bards will flock to our humble College.” He confessed, placing his hand on Dio’s shoulder. The normally unapproachable elf did not shake it off.

“You warm my heart, Maestro.” Dio smiled warmly, though most likely he was thinking about warming himself with the Nords blood in the nearby future.

“Please, call me Leiborn!”

“With pleasure, Leiborn. Now…” Dio glanced at the door giving Fennorian, a quick wink. It was time to strike. “The night is still young, so I was hoping to drag Fennorian to the Lonely Troll for a quick drink. He’s a scholar as well, you know.”

“Truly?” The Nord turned to examine Fennorian closer with purely academic interest. The young one gave the man a confirming nod, his palm hovering over his mouth as not to betray his fangs. 

“Oh, yes! Love for history and books is what sadly gives him such ghastly parlor. I keep telling the lad to leave his studies and enjoy life while he’s still young, but…” The Dunmer sighed, his hand now over Leiborn’s. “He never listens. Perhaps you could help me with convincing him to lighten up a bit? At least for one night? I’m sure he would love to hear about the Lute of Blue Longing.” He whispered with theatrical confidentiality into the Nord’s ear. “You certainly enthralled me with the history of the Petraloop.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Leiborn was completely within the older vampire’s grasp, without any aid of supernatural seduction. He coughed to cover up embarrassment from such praise, his cheeks blooming red. 

“Let me grab my coat.”

\---

Three cups of mead were poured, but only one person was actually drinking in the secluded alcove at the back of the Lonely Troll tavern. Maestro Leiborn was seated between the two undead, spinning tales about the historical instruments he came across in his career. He was a remarkably pleasant drinking companion (and a blissfully unaware dinner guest), sharing his knowledge with both passion and joy… He must have not gotten many chances to go out. 

“So, the ghost of the deceived queen appears any time someone plays the lute? Ghastly!” Dio clutched his fist over his chest, as if his heart was still beating. 

“It is mere superstition. But I should probably hang up a plaque warning the apprentices not to play the instrument during opening hours.” Leiborn mused, finishing his mug, making no note on how close the Dunmer was sitting. Though the blush on his cheeks and glimmer in his eye betrayed he was not against it. 

Dio’s gaze turned to Fennorian, who was politely nodding but, otherwise staying out of the conversation. The young one barely spoke their entire way from the College to the tavern, opting to silently brood. And yet, he was unknowingly turning heads of whomever the three of them came across: the guards, the occasional traveler, the innkeeper, the serving girl… 

There was something about him that mortals were instantly drawn to. It couldn’t have been his attire, as he followed the same dress code as the rest of his House – utilitarian and dreadfully dull. So, was it the way his unruly hair curled over his forehead and on the back of his neck? The smoldering gaze he had when he was deep in thought? Or perhaps the features of his face – noble, yet somehow soft and innocent? Fennorian himself seemed to be completely unaware of the effect he had on people. Just like… 

“Are you not afraid to be housing a haunted instrument in the College?” Dio asked, pretending to take a sip of mead, looking away from the troubled youth before his thoughts could go down a dangerous path. 

“Never!” Leiborn declared with fire, loosening up his collar. “The ghost of the queen could haunt my chambers nightly, but I would not hide away the lute. Its history is far too important to…” He paused, realizing the innuendo he had just made and the three of them laughed. 

Dio was in a splendid mood – he liked when his food was entertaining. He quickly counted how many drinks Leiborn already had, and decided it was alright to let him have just another one. 

“Such passion is unheard of these days.” He noted, pouring out another drink for the Nord before raising a toast. “Let’s drink to passion, then!”

He and Fennorian pretended to drink, whilst Leiborn emptied his half-filled mug in one large gulp. 

“I thank you for all your kind words, my friend.” The mortal declared, putting the mug far enough from himself to signal he had his fill. “I apologize for dominating the conversation, but whenever history and music are involved I just can’t help myself.”

“I beg of you, never apologize for that!” Dio pleaded, taking Maestro’s hands in his. Luckily, the Nord was too drunk to realize how cold the Dunmer was. “What is life without passion? Nothing!”

Their eyes locked and the two men drew closer. Fennorian averted his gaze to give them some privacy. Staring at a wolf head mounted above their table he heard Leiborn’s soft gasp, then the quiet sounds of sucking. He could have sworn there was judgement the beast’s glass eyes, as if the wolf was somehow silently disgusted by him playing a role in the deception. He closed his eyes, hunching his shoulders. He felt another tide of hunger arising inside him, further aggravating the situation. Suddenly, being left alone in Svana’s bedchamber did not seem so bad at all. 

“How considerate.” Dio snarked after what seemed like hours to Fennorian. “You can look now, I’m finished.”

Resigned, the young scholar assessed the situation. With eyes half-shut Leiborn was leaning on Dio’s shoulder, deep in the post-feeding daze that overcame most mortals. Meanwhile, the vampire was wiping his mouth with a handy handkerchief, his parlor less pale due to the fresh blood coursing through his veins. Casually, he folded his blood-stained handkerchief and hid inside his pocket. He then slid his hand down Leiborn’s shamelessly loosened collar to fell his heart.

“His heart still beats strong.” He assessed. “Nords and Orcs are surprisingly resilient to blood loss. And strong drink. You can have a go if you want.” He offered casually. 

Fennorian took a breath to protest, but bit down on his tongue catching a glimpse of a vein pulsing on the side of Leiborn’s neck. His mind was instantly overtaken by the thought of sweet, rich blood in that vein. He shouldn’t, this was not how he was raised. Yet, he leaned closer. His hand rested on the mortal’s cheek to tilt his head to the side. Letting his instinct guide him, he bore his fangs, closed his eyes and struck down, piercing the skin.

His mouth was flooded by thick, hot blood. He nearly gagged on the first taste. He swallowed it all down, then took another gulp. And another… He missed this. He needed this. With every mouthful he could feel his troubles melting away in a pool of red comfort. The Gray Host? Harrowstorms? Tzinghalis? Meaningless! He had all he needed right before him, filling him up with warmth and satisfaction.

Surely, the young vampire would overindulge on poor Leiborn and suck him dry, if it weren’t for Dio’s nails sinking into the back of his neck and the Dunmer’s quiet, yet stern warning:

“You’re killing him.”

Appalled, Fennorian pulled himself away from the mortal, the last sip of blood spilling out of his mouth and trickling down his chin. Quickly, he conjured a weak healing spell in his palm, pressing against the wound, mending it in seconds. Leiborn exhaled a weak sigh, closing his eyes. Terrified, Fennorian kept his hand on the Nord’s neck until he was sure there was a pulse. 

Silently, Dio handed him the same handkerchief. Fennorian accepted it with a nod, slinking to a corner of the alcove. He wiped his chin and hands, avoiding the other vampire’s eyes. He was sated. He felt good, but he almost overindulged and took a life. A fine red line separated him from betraying House Ravenwatch and everything it stood for. Despite him not stepping over that line, he felt that he had somehow failed. 

“Something on your mind?” Dio calmly asked, his hand still over Leiborn’s chest. 

“This was all so… disingenuous.” Fennorian declared, pulling his knees up to his chin, mincing the soiled piece of cloth between his fingers. 

“Of course it was, all seduction is!” Dio laughed shamelessly, his voice once again having that unpleasant snarky tone. 

“You… we’ve deceived him. It feels wrong. He wasn’t protesting, but he didn’t know our true intentions.” 

“Well, what would you have me do? Tell him the truth? He’d be running for the guards! This is as humane as it can get. Ashes, if I knew how squeamish you are around deception, I would have shown you how to snatch an unsuspecting wretch from the streets, or how to break into a house and feed off the sleeping.”

Fennorian rested his forehead on his knees, ignoring his company to wallow in self-loathing. No one got hurt, but he somehow felt like he committed a crime. He felt wrong, dirty. He was now glad the rest of his House was not around to see him sinking this low. 

“Hey, you can brood all you want back in the royal chambers. Now I need you to look at me.”

Ready for a barrage of ridicule, Fenn lifted his head. Yet, the look on Dio’s face was dead serious, no trace of snark or patronizing.

“We’re predators, there’s no way around that.” The Dunmer stated bluntly, finally pulling his hand from under Leiborn’s shirt to fish out a small mirror from his inner pocket. Casually, he inspected his fangs under the light. Pleased with their state, he then lifted his chin to assess his carefully contoured stubble. “If you want to be kind to mortals, be kind to them whenever you can afford it. Take only from the willing and knowing if you have the luxury. Build yourself a cult of loving donors if that’s your fancy.” He went on, putting the mirror away to give Fenn his undivided attention. “ But in the end, when you’re in a tough spot, you better take the first opportunity to feed, or else you’re going to frenzy. And what you’re going to do then is not going to be pretty. Though, honestly? You’ll sleep better accepting that sooner or later you will kill, despite your best intentions. Be ready for that moment.” 

Fennorian winced, remembering the taunting words of his torturer. _“It fights against its nature. A weaker breed.”_

“You’re thinking about that twisted bastard Tzinghalis said, aren’t you?” Dio rolled his eyes, his face scrunched with disgust. “Pretentious fool, completely delusional. Forget about him. Actually, no, remember him well. Because that’s exactly how you don’t want to end up.”

“So, what is it then? Should I accept being a predator or should I not?” Fenn asked tiredly, regretting his decision to come. 

“I said ‘predator’, not ‘sadistic madman’.” Dio corrected, growing annoyed. Though he was immortal, his time was precious and he could not bear having it wasted.

“Are there any other lessons you wish to give me tonight?” Fenn asked, desperately wanting to leave. 

“Just this one: there are more than two approaches to unlife. Vampires aren’t only the Ravenwatch or the Gray Host. Do with that knowledge whatever you please. Now, the Maestro is slowly coming to his senses. Help me escort him to the College and we can call it a night.”

\---

Leiborn blinked, unsure where he was. Wait, those were the front steps of the College. How did he get here? Embarrassed, he realized his two drinking companions were holding him up under the arms. Shor’s beard, did he drink that much? He was certainly feeling lightheaded, though oddly there was none of that usual dizziness whenever he went overboard. 

“Maestro, your knowledge of music is only matched by your drinking prowess.” The Dunmer praised, signaling his companion to let go. Leiborn was not sure if it was the mead influencing his memory, but he could have sworn the two of them got very close back in the tavern.

“Thank you. I-I hope I was not a bother.” He stuttered, managing to stand up straight without any help. A cold rinse and a warm bed was what he desperately needed right now. Actually, the rinse could wait until morning. 

“Ah, who doesn’t drink a bit too much from time to time?” Dio laughed, giving his Altmer friend a knowing wink. “Fennorian and I greatly enjoyed your company.” 

“Yes.” The young scholar chimed in, giving Leiborn an oddly apologetic look. “Thank you for agreeing to accompany us, Maestro. Sleep well.”

“You too, my friends.” Leiborn bid, turning away to walk the steps. “And-“ on a sudden impulse he turned around to address the Dunmer one last time, “if you come across any more missing instruments, please come find me!” 

“It will be my pleasure.” Dio’s intense look lingered on Leiborn long enough for the man to feel hot under the collar. Something definitely happened between them in the tavern.

The door slammed shut behind the man and the two vampires were left alone in the street.

“Looks like I secured myself a blood-friend.” Dio grinned with pride. “It’s been a while since I had one of those. Oh, don’t give me that look, I’ll be nice to him. Promise! Are you alright?” His brow rose as Fennorian reached to support himself against a streetlight. 

“Suddenly I’m a bit… dizzy.” The young one confessed, his normally measured tone slurred. “I’m not sure what’s happening.”

“You’re drunk!” Dio revealed, doing a pirouette, betraying he was also feeling the effects of the mead in Leiborn’s blood. “Ah, what a night! What a lovely night! Come!” He offered his hand to the poor intoxicated scholar. “I’ll walk you to the Blue Palace on foot, you’re in no condition to fly.”

“I’m going to have a hangover, aren’t I.” Fennorian sighed, accepting the Dunmer’s help. 

“Oh, you most certainly will!” Dio snickered, happy with the bit of mischief he caused. “Now, this will all be our little secret, yes? And if Titanborn asks – I had nothing to do with it!”


End file.
